The Viking's Woman Read Online Free Page B

clenched his teeth, reaching for the shaft. His men raced forward. Taking cover behind the dying horse, he held up a hand, stopping them. Sweating and convulsing, he grasped the shaft and pulled. A cry of sheer agony tore from his lips, but the arrow came free. Blood flowed over his hands, and blackness spun before his eyes. He sat in the mud with the rain still pouring down upon him. For many seconds he feared that he would fall flat upon the earth, unconscious.
    Fury revived him. He ripped off a piece of his mantle, tying the wound, and staggered to his feet. His jaw tightened and his eyes were like frost as they swept the area. A two-story lodging lay far to his back. It wasn’t burning and there was a window on the second floor where an assassin might well have taken aim upon him.
    “Hold, Eric—” Rollo called to him. But Eric lifted a hand and shook his head. “Nay, I will find this treacherous assassin and I will deal with him.” He paused only a second longer, indicating the fallen horse. “Have mercy on this beast and set him free from his misery.”
    He strode toward the building, heedless of the danger that another arrow might fly. Rage blackened his vision now, but he knew that no one lurked in the window. Whoever had attacked him surely meant to run now, but there would be no escape.
    He burst into the building. It was a fine manor home with a great hall and a line of shields upon the wall. There was a great fire in the center of the room,with an open shaft to the sky above it. Trickles of rain came through the flume of the shaft and hissed and steamed on the rocks that surrounded the fire.
    Eric turned from it and looked to the stairs.
    His attacker surely was waiting for him to take to the stairs. The man had doubtless come down there already and waited to attack his back as soon as it was turned.
    He did not walk toward the stairs.
    He looked about the room and saw a fine table set with plates and cups and ewers of ale and mead. Limping, he dragged his injured leg with him and poured out a long draught of mead.
    He waited and in time was rewarded. Staring across the hall to a storeroom, he saw the slightest movement beneath a covered table. Casually he leaned down to slip out his knife from the sheath at his calf. Slowly he approached the storeroom. He moved as if he had no purpose. Then he swept up the linen that covered the table, and prepared to seize the man beneath it.
    He swore as a cloud of flour hit him in the face, blinding him. A scurrying sound assured him that the man was trying to escape. Ignoring the pain in his eyes and in his leg, Eric lunged at the fleeing assassin. His hands curled around an arm, and he dragged the man down easily. He fell hard upon his attacker and swiftly brought up his knife, ready to deal out death.
    Then he heard a woman scream, and he saw that he had caught the woman from the parapets, the creature with the fiery hair and the deadly arrows. He stayed his hand.
    She trembled beneath him but swallowed herscream, angry that she had already released it. Her eyes were glazed with tears that she would not allow to spill. Her irises were blue gray, almost silver, and though her hair was that curious color of sun and fire, her eyes were fringed by midnight-black lashes. They were both startling and beautiful. Her skin was fair, a creamy ivory, and as soft as a rose petal. She lay beneath him, gasping for breath, her breasts rising and falling, their firm mounds apparent beneath the soft, taut wool of her fur-trimmed tunic. He was assessing the fine curves of her mouth when suddenly she pursed her lips and spat at him.
    He sat back, his thighs hard around her hips, and with a flick of motion brought his blade to her throat. He saw her pulse race there, and then she gulped. The long, brilliant length of her hair was tangled beneath her to her buttocks, and he knew that his knees pulled it where it fell beneath them. He offered her no mercy. A man would not spit at him and